Temporary Bride

Labourer's Hands - Part 5

I was lost. I needed a change. So I did what any girl would do - I went home to my mother>>>

Labourer's Hands - Part 4

One of the best things about my adopted city was the ease of leaving it - London was the hub of the universe and there was no where you couldn’t fly to. I sought fulfillment through the airways>>>

Labourer's Hands - Part 3

It was rash and spontaneous and my parents were furious. They hadn’t immigrated to the New World, they insisted, only for their children to turn and go back to the old one>>>

Labourer's Hands - Part 2

By the end of the school year I'd both established my culinary foothold and lost my virginity>>>

Labourer's Hands - Part 1

I'd inform the school secretary of our absence in my best 9 year old adult voice and on cue my sister would produce a breakfast of grape ice cream and microwave popcorn>>>

Yesterday I had your dream

A few moments to linger among the plantings of shemshod and mulberry bushes, and it would soon be time to move again>>>

'Joonam' in the Dim Light

We straightened out our clothes, I fixed my scarf and we emerged into the dim light of the passageway; again into the ancient streets of Yazd>>>

The Velocity of Attraction

I had never slept with a virgin but non-virgins had slept with me and I couldn’t take such a memory from him or leave such a powerful imprint behind. His first sex deserved a framework of understanding and love>>>

Morality Police and 'Porru'

I could make out the silhouettes of four officers through the dark, tinted windows and as they opened the door I could see that they were wearing emerald green uniforms>>>

Imperfect Yazdi Alley and a Police Car

We reached a brightly lit street and as I thought about his question, I saw a green and white police car>>>

The Vocabulary of Rejection

He drew closer to me, still holding my hands. His first kiss was quick and unsure and he seemed scared of disappointing me>>>

Can I kiss you?

The afternoon sun was beginning to drop and the streets were quiet. It was afternoon siesta time and most of the shops were shut and families indoors. I thumbed my little sugar necklace and glanced at Vahid>>>

The Accidental Tourist: A Trip to the Camel Slaughterhouse

We walked back to our taxi and as we climbed in the back, our shoes splattered in blood and feeling emotionally unsettled, the driver said something to Vahid which he translated aloud. “He says that we smell like sheep.”>>>

Empty Zam Zam Cans and Kalleh Pacheh

I followed him down to an underground walkway. It had a dank, clammy smell, limescale-crusted ceiling and underlay of chewing gum, empty Zam Zam cans and cigarette butts>>>

Sheep Heads and a Moment of Perfection

If there is an experience that will make make you feel like everything that has happened in your life was simply to lead you to this place to feel such a complete sense of perfection and wonder - this has to be it>>>